


Unsteady

by buchanyoufuck



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, AoU never happened, Comfort, Healing, Hurt Bucky, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Suicide Attempt, how do i tag wtf, i'll add more when more come yo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-08 02:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7739554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buchanyoufuck/pseuds/buchanyoufuck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky had been living on his own for a while. Left Steve on the banks of that lake and fled, trying to remove himself from the world. His way of dealing with himself wasn't the best. Until Steve finds him. Living in the Avengers tower with Steve, getting therapy. One could say he's getting better. </p><p>Well until theres a gun pointed towards himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1; Change In Routine

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS GONNA HURT. also i listened to unsteady by x ambassadors while writing this

Bucky had learnt to deal with pain long ago. Being strapped into the chair and having his existence torn from him soon became routine, he almost feels broken without it now. He didn’t know how to deal with this pain though, this pain was different. His instinct straight away told him to find the source but he couldn’t. It came from somewhere unknown inside of him. It made his insides twist and his chest felt too heavy for what he was wearing. He found himself in the bathtub in tears often. It was odd because HYDRA had drilled it into him that he showing pain was a sign of malfunction. He kept awaiting for the men in coats to strap him up and wipe him. He had read some of those magazines teenage girls dropped, there was an article of the teenage fad “self-harm” it made his stomach knot and he swore to never do that, no matter where he got.  
  
That was until this week. He screamed and thrashed at night, he tried tying the metal arm to the radiator but nothing held. He threw knives across the room and the wall was close to falling down. He knew he needed the euphoric rush of a mission. The uncertainty buried somewhere in the soldier that this one may be the last. The exasperated groans when a bullet shot him. He needed the pain. So here he sat with the razor he planned on shaving with. He ripped the plastic from it and stared at the blade.  
  
_“Steve would be ashamed, he would hate you”_  
  
_“You’re not a war hero if you do this” ___  
  
_“You deserve this, you useless monster” ___  
  
Words swirled through his head and the noise of the city below became thunder in his ears. The bathtub felt too small and the screaming in his ears was relentless. Slowly he raised the blade with his left arm and drew it across his flesh and bone arm.  
  
Red, came pouring down his arm; the soldier locked behind the barrier he made in his mind screamed at him too fight back. But how can you fight your own mind? He grit his teeth and drew another line and another till his arm wasn’t recognizable. Then he sat in a pool of his own blood seeping into the jeans he stole from a good will. He smiled softly at the high from the endorphins, the temporary release from himself and the world around him.  
  
Soon the botched serum began working and he watched in wonder as the gashes healed themselves until his arm was but dried blood and rapidly fading scars.  
  
_“Stupid stupid needs to be deeper next time you deserve to see the scars of what you do to yourself.” ___  
  
Bucky ran the water in the bath scrubbing at his arm until it was bright pink and spots of blood beaded up from scrubbing away skin. He felt dirty and unworthy after that. He grew up knowing that he needed to protect Steve, always bandaging him up keeping him from trouble. He was always the strong one, he was the one with the cocky smile and the rock solid composure. Now look at him, haunted by himself and unable to sleep at night. Bucky shook his head slowly lifting himself from the tub peeling off the soaked clothes, no point in keeping them the blood had ruined them. He climbed out and wiped his face off, remembering he forgot to shave. That could wait.  
  
Shuffling slowly from the bathroom he fell onto the broken mattress he’d found on the street, wincing as a spring dug into his back. All things that reminded him he was real. That he wasn’t floating in his own head in cryo but alive and living. He needed that, to have a rope tying him to the ground in life. Not that Bucky didn’t see himself as a tied down person just at this time the winter soldier didn’t know how to deal with the emotions it felt.  
  
Nowadays he felt like he was but a backstreet driver in his life. Some days were full lapses, the asset was fronting the whole day and he couldn’t change it. Not that the asset did anything bad really, waited instructions that never came. Some days he dissembled, cleaned and reassembled every gun he’d been wearing that day he jumped from the helecarrier to save Steve. But those days he didn’t know his name was Steve only that he was his mission and it needed to be finished. Still he isn’t sure as to why he dragged him from the lake, he tries to convince himself it was so the body could be found but a nagging part of him screams it was because he remembered. Even though it wasn’t present in front of him he remembered. Like when someone explains a movie you’ve watched before but can’t quite make out.  
  
Although the worst days were when it was just Bucky. No soldier, no hydra coding just Bucky when he was a child. He didn’t understand why his left arm was metal and he couldn’t find Steve no matter how many alleys he checked or diners he looked behind. Everything was so new and it scared him so much. It wasn’t the 1940’s he didn’t know when it was. He tried asking the date the first time he slipped but people gave him weird looks. The buildings around him were different and the people didn’t even have the Brooklyn accent he grew up submerged in, heck they didn’t even speak English. Yet a part of him felt he knew the language, like he was revising after years of not even looking at it. Which didn’t make sense, he was in his 20’s, he had lived in Brooklyn long as he could remember and the stench of the low end city he lived in was recognizable from anywhere. But this, the war posters were gone. The air smelt clean and the dames dressed different. Just everything felt wrong to him.  
  
Despite the fact his brain never wanted to sit right in this century he’s proud to say his made a routine for himself. He visits the market on a Saturday and buys stuff from the locals, he tried volunteering at a homeless shelter; it didn’t go to plan when someone tried to start a shooting need less said. Every night he would sit on his bed writing down everything he thought of that day as if he didn’t quickly enough they’d run away and he would never reach them again. He would methodically pull the floorboards up and slide yet another notebook into his bag and then seal it all shut again. This was a crucial part to him, those floorboards covered his entire existence every shred of who is James Buchanan Barnes was in that bag. The good the bad and the downright evil. He doesn’t want to remember what he did to all those people, but he needs to. He needs to be held accountable maybe one day turn himself in, he hasn’t worked that far ahead yet.  
  
Bucky sighed softly, drawing his train of thoughts back. These were things to dwell on when he was able bodied and not on the verge of passing out. So he closed his eyes and fell into restless sleep. 

*

The door was open, the room felt wrong. There was the scent of the Chowards’ peppermints Bucky would save all month to get a roll for Steve because those were his favourite. Sharp sandalwood aftershave and freshly cut pine. The soldier, who until then had been teetering on the cliff in his mind ready to switch if a threat proved- calmed down. It smelt similar and like coming home to the dingy apartment in Brooklyn. Bucky shook his head, no it was 2016- he’d read that in the paper, right under the accusations of him murdering the king of some country called Wakanda. It all reminded him overwhelmingly of Steve. Steve the whole reason he stole the jet and flew until he found a base he was sure no one knew about. The stupid boy he grew up with, the whole god damn reason he joined the war and ended up becoming this monster- it smelt like him in his apartment and it scared Bucky.  
  
He stepped in slowly, out of habit doing a routine sweep and there in the uniform that reeked patriot he stood. The same Americas golden boy haircut from all those years ago, the same torso defined enough to make everyone’s knees wobble. Steve. The dumb kid from Brooklyn who didn’t know how to leave a fight flicking through the current journal he had going.  
  
He could hear the faint sound of his in ear com piece going off, obviously some important intel- what isn’t with the winter soldier.  
  
“Understood” Steve stated, with all the damned authority he used back in the war.  
  
Bucky must’ve moved to quickly, knocked a pile of something or scuffed his shoe because Steve swiveled around. He still looked perfect. Impossible to tell Bucky had nearly smashed his entire skull to dust the last time he saw him. The same face Bucky fell head over heels for.  
  
“You know me?” Steve asked bordering on the tone of talking to a feral dog. Was this boy kidding, of course Bucky knew him. The first thing Bucky remembered was dragging his skinny ass out of alleys and cleaning his bloody knuckles.  
  
He cleared his throat and tried to come across as calm “you’re Steve, I read about you in a museum” that was half a lie. Yes he’d read about Steve in the museum but he also began remembering him off the bat. The second he said Bucky on the bridge. Because really no one said Bucky that way, everyone else made it seem like a painful nickname they can’t believe he chose. Steve always made Bucky feel like he belonged, would hold him even when he came home smelling like drink and the perfume of the dames he held against alley walls trying to find peace or mind.  
  
The rock solid composure in Steve’s eyes faltered for a moment and at the Bucky lost it.  
  
His knees gave out and tears came streaming down his face. He screamed into his hands and pounded his fists into the floor, ignoring the blood seeping from his now bloody knuckles of his right hand “I messed up, I Messed UP, I MESSED UP I’M SO SORRY STEVE” He couldn’t stop it, he had tried for so long not to break over what he did and now that he has it kept washing over him in waves, gradually stopping before coming back worse than ever.  
  
Steve dropped to his knees pulling Bucky into him “hey no, I know you didn’t kill him, I know you don’t do that but people who think you did are coming and their not planning on taking you alive yknow” he cooed into Bucky’s hair, petting it and stroking his flesh arm.  
  
Bucky shook his head “n-no it wasn’t that I did something to myself- oh my god I’m so sorry- I I couldn’t deal with it anymore - I’m so sorry I’m such a bad person oh my god – there was so much blood… I’m so sorry Steve I’m not the kid who could always save you anymore” he all but screamed into Steve’s chest. He could feel the hitch in the larger man’s breath as he realized just how bad the situation really was. Could feel an arm move to turn his in-ear communication device on.  
  
“Hey Sam- yeah I got him- no no its fine- yeah listen I need you to get in here tell em I got the situation under control somethings happened with him- no no I got it you get yourself to the hotel I’ll bring him over” the stroking continued and Bucky could hear banging on the door, the slowly dwindled away to nothing. “Hey Buck, c’mon we need a get you out of here, it aint safe here c’mon Buck please lets go somewhere safe?” Bucky didn’t have the heart to try and fight back anymore. He allowed himself to be lifted by Steve, his head lolling off of Steve’s arm.  
  
Steve walked him to the door, kicking it out of the frame. They were met by the German Special Forces who instantly tried to handcuff Bucky. Steve gently explained to them he had the situation and that when he felt Bucky was ready he would be brought into the S.H.E.I.L.D quarters. For once Bucky felt safe. It felt nice to have someone to clutch onto. He hadn’t held onto someone in so long, being able to feel the strong pulse under his fingers and know that what he was holding onto was real. It was more grounding then the broken mattress springs in his back.  
  
He doesn’t do that stuff anymore.  
  
And he never will.


	2. Chapter 2; Broken Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late update xx

Chapter 2

“Whadya mean Barnes isn’t suitable for human contact yet? He’s been receiving therapy for 2 months now, Banners the best I don’t understand why he isn’t better yet!” Tony yelled, Bucky could hear the disappointment in his voice. He’d locked everyone but Steve from his room. Insisted on cleaning for himself, cooking for himself, couldn’t bear anyone seeing the misery he’d let himself slip into.

“Tony, he’s not talking much but you of all people should understand how this works. Give him time- I’ve got a feeling there’s more he’s not letting me in on” Steve always spoke gently about him. Believed in him so much. Looked at him like he lifted the moon every night even when he walks in on him screaming. It’s true, Bucky still hadn’t told Steve about the night in the bathtub with the razor. He hasn’t even accepted it with himself yet. 

“Don’t you dare bring me into this Rogers” Starks voice sounded poison dipped, one thing Bucky had learnt in avengers tower was that no one asks about other people’s past, and you never compared people based on what they’ve suffered. He learnt that when he tried to talk to Natasha about the Russians. If learning can be classified as his right arm being dislocated and a gun pressed to his back. 

*

Living in Avenger’s Tower was kind, but he felt he was treated like a feral dog. No one spoke to him in a demeaning way- afraid he’d be triggered and would slip back into the Winter Soldier. Truthfully he did fight it every day, resisted the urge to drop to his knees when someone looked down at him, the urge to only eat when completely necessary. He did it all for Steve because he couldn’t bear the look of pain that flashed across Steve when he does walk in on Bucky hunched over the toilet sticking his fingers down his throat. 

Least to say he was tired of it. 

Bucky was sitting on the couch with Steve, too far from him.

_Can’t touch can’t touch can’t touch- need to need to need to touch._

Steve claimed he didn’t want to push Bucky, wanted to keep him safe. Treated him like a porcelain doll. 

Bucky hated it. 

“Steve I need to talk to you”

Hope flashed across Steve’s face he quickly pushed it down not wanting to intimidate Bucky.

“Yeah of course what’s wrong?” Bucky watched as Steve relaxed his shoulders, trying his hardest to create a relaxed demeanour. 

“I think I tried to kill myself, well maybe- I’m not sure what I was doing but I did something to myself” Bucky said this with a straight face, quickly as possible because he knew if he paused the tears wouldn’t stop. Never mind that because the look Steve got, the horror in his eyes made Bucky wish he never spoke. “I’m sorry I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to talk oh my god forget I ever talked Steve” He was rambling on and on unable to stop himself. 

Steve breathed in slowly, steadying his breathing “Bucky what did you do?” he asked this slowly, knowing Bucky sometimes takes questions as a mission report- not wanting the answer to be from the Soldier but from his friend. 

“I was going to shave, and I ripped my razor and cut up my arm till the solider stopped screaming in my mind” Bucky stated anxiety clawing its way into his voice, shying away from Steve scared he’d driven him away. No one liked broken people, no one like when people couldn’t keep their head on straight. 

Bucky didn’t know how long he had covered his face, or when Steve moved across the couch to pull him into his lap, or when Steve’s gentle fingers began combing through his hair. 

“Buddy, did you tell Bruce- you know I’m here for you” Steve whispered gently, pulling away from Bucky’s hair waiting for an answer.

“Mmmm, no one… I didn’t think it was important, ‘m still alive” he murmured into Steve’s broad chest, wincing when he heard the sharp intake of air Steve took. 

“Bucky it is important- I care so much, if you need help for it I promise I’m here please talk to me Bucky”

Bucky stood up and walked into his room closing the door.

*

Bruce sat at his desk looking carefully at the grown man on the floor of his office “Hello Mr Barnes how are you feeling this week?” 

Bucky didn’t answer, he never did anymore.

“Mr Barnes we can’t work through your issues if you won’t talk” Bruce carted his fingers through his hair sighing, it had been 3 weeks since Bucky spoke in a session and he was beginning to get worried. “Rogers talked to me, said you told him some stuff do you want to elaborate on that?” Truth was Bruce had an idea, Steve told him about the razor incident but he needed more, needed to know whether Bucky needed suicide watch or not.

“Bruce, you’re my friend right?” Bruce looked over at Bucky who was picking a hole in his carpet. 

“Of course James you ca-“

“No one calls me James” he stated cutting Bruce off, ripping a thread from the carpet violently. 

Bruce shook his head “No you’re right, I apologise Bucky; as I was saying I’m here for you whenever you need, the door is open” 

Bucky scoffed at that “yeah right, you all think I’m a basket case that can’t be fixed I’ve heard you talking. I’m a master assassin, my life for 70 years was listening to people and killing them and never getting found. I’ve heard every conversation _Dr Banner_ ” With the he stood and left leaving Bruce banging his head against his desk. 

*

“солдат*!” Nat called after Bucky, she was the only one he allowed to call him that, and the only one to speak Russian with him. Gave him a sense of secrecy. He was tired of his life being catalogued, not like he was already in several thousand hydra files. 

“да, маленький паучок**?” he grinned as he watched her get annoyed at the nickname, he remembered that from their time training in the red room a few months ago and never let it down. 

“Во-первых, я признателен, если ты умолкниш***, and secondly it’s your turn to plan the movie night- Tony’s rostered you on so don’t argue,” it was her turn to grin, knowing Bucky hated spending time with the rest of the avengers, avoided it at all costs. 

The brunette huffed “I’d rather Steve braid my hair then watch a movie with them, hell I haven’t seen any movies from this time- I don’t know what’s good and isn’t!” 

He held an exasperated look as Natasha clutched her stomach her red curls bouncing 

“солдат* it’s okay, all you do is bring food stand down,” she placed a hand on his shoulder shaking her head before continuing on.

Bucky shook his head and headed to the showers.

*

Whoever created hot running water in Bucky’s opinion was a saint. But whoever created hot running water with _pressure_ now they, were a god on earth. If one were to listen to him the first time he had a shower in the Avengers tower one would have guessed one of two things. One) he had just had several thousand mind shattering orgasms. Two) he was dying and transcending into a different being. When in reality both hold the same concept. He stood under the water moaning, no how many times he showered it felt like a religious experience. Normally he didn’t like showering, whenever hydra “cleaned” him it was with a pressure washer, it stung and he hated what came after. The pain of being shocked until he didn’t remember his own name.

This shower was calm and safe, no one was hurting him. The soldier was quiet and it was just Bucky. So he sat quietly on the shower floor letting the water run over him, not worrying. 

He heard a knock at the door “Hey Buck, are you okay it’s been an hour you’ve been showering.” Steve. Kept tabs on him all the time, didn’t let him slip into his mind too often. 

He yelled out washing what seemed to be the 5th round of soap off him “Yeah Steve I’ll be out in a min.” he guessed it was time for the shower to end. Sighing gently he turned the shower off and stepped out, hastily wrapping a towel around his waist and stepping out. Steve stood in the door frame looking half ready to knock the door down. “Not today big boy” Bucky murmured. 

Steve blushed crimson, running his hand through his hair. “Sorry Buck, Bruce asked me to keep an eye on you, I should a talked to you, I’m real sorry,” he said looking down. 

Bucky hated it, hated he couldn’t be trusted. Anger over swept him and he surged forward grabbing Steve at the throat with his metal arm, flipping them so Steve was pressed into the wall. “What the fuck Rogers! You think I can’t fucking look after myself, I fucking suffered on my own for two whole fucking years- I don’t need you babying me! I’m sick of it, nobody treats me human I want to live and feel alive let me do something!” he snarled in Steve’s face, thrumming with anger. He ignored the soldier dancing in his mind, didn’t bother pushing him down. “If you have a fucking problem say it to my face don’t tiptoe around me.” He finished by punching his free arm into the wall next to the blonds head and storming off. 

Steve slid down the wall hanging his head between his knees. “Jarvis, ask Banner to come up here, please”.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Russian.
> 
> * солдат = Soldier
> 
> ** да, маленький паучок = Yes, little spider?
> 
> *** Во-первых, я признателен, если ты умолкниш = First, I appreciate if you stopped that


End file.
